


The Problem of Darley Place

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Miss Marple - Agatha Christie, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: 500 prompts, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3932854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his latest investigation, Sherlock Holmes encounters an eager pupil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Problem of Darley Place

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Убийство в Дарли-плейс](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12660351) by [Jewellery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jewellery/pseuds/Jewellery)



> Part of a '500 Prompts' meme. Prompt 206, from [lost_spook](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook): "Dangerous illusion. — Miss Marple & Sherlock Holmes"

"Well, Watson, what do you make of Inspector Clarke's account?" Sherlock Holmes inquired of me. 

At this time, Holmes's reputation being at its height, it was not an unusual occurrence for the officers of local police forces to call on him at Baker Street and request his assistance. Most of the problems that they related were, in Holmes's view, commonplace affairs requiring little more than a word of his advice. In this case, however, Inspector Clarke had insisted that nothing less than Holmes's personal presence would suffice. During his investigation of the murder of a young maid, evidence had surfaced which cast doubt on the conduct of at least one of his own officers. With their testimony thrown into question, he considered it desirable that the case should be re-examined from the start. 

Holmes had agreed, and we had travelled to Medenham by train, while the Inspector related the full details of the case to us. Gertrude Simpson had been the second housemaid at Thornbridge Hall, a large estate. On the Thursday afternoon, she had walked to the village of Thornbridge, as was her habit. When she did not return at the expected hour, searches were made for her, but it was not until the following morning that her lifeless body was found: in a copse more than a mile beyond Thornbridge, in the opposite direction from that which led to the Hall. Furthermore, it was plain that her death had been no accident; the unfortunate woman had been strangled. 

Having parted from the Inspector at the railway station, we were now walking through the peaceful, verdant lanes that would take us to Thornbridge, and thence either to the Hall or the copse, as we chose. 

"Regarding the murder," I said, "it seems to me that we must first establish how she came to be in Harker's Copse, and whether she came there or was brought. Even in such weather as we have been having, there must surely be ground soft enough to take a footprint." 

"True enough, Watson, though I fear if there is such ground it will have been much trampled between then and now. These rural constables! Whether the Inspector is right or not to be suspicious of their actions, everyday clumsiness is often just as destructive to evidence." 

⁂

Once Holmes had made his examination of the copse — though, as he had feared, there was precious little useful evidence to see after half the inhabitants of Thornbridge had tramped through it — we attempted to retrace the last steps of the unfortunate Gertrude Simpson. The path by which she would have arrived was frequently used, and hard-packed earth at that; here and there I could make out the occasional footprint, but none which seemed to match the maid's shoes. 

In due course the path, having left the copse behind and passed between two fields, ran for some way alongside a high brick wall. Above the wall could be seen the trees of an orchard, with a large house in the distance. At the point where the wall was pierced by a door, Holmes came to a halt. 

"These are the grounds of Darley Place," he said. "If Gertrude Simpson came this way — which is likely, since it is the obvious route from the village — she will have passed this door." 

I recalled what the Inspector had told us of the case. "The people living here are the Peels, aren't they? They said none of them saw anything. And why should they? We're a fair way from the house here." 

"True enough, Watson." Holmes knelt down by the door and brought a lens to bear on the trampled earth. "But we should leave no stone unturned." 

While Holmes was still examining the door and the ground before it, I chanced to look up, and saw that we were observed. A young woman, of perhaps thirteen years of age, was watching us from the branches of an apple tree which overhung the wall. 

I raised my hat to her, and bade her a polite good morning. Holmes looked up briefly, then returned to his examination. 

"Good morning," she replied. "Are you Doctor Watson?" 

"You seem well-informed," I said. 

"Agnes the housemaid said you were coming," she explained. "I'm Jane, by the way." 

From the quality of her clothes, it was clear she was no servant. "You're one of the family?" 

"Mr Peel is my uncle," Jane said. She climbed up to a higher branch, where she had a better view of us. "Actually, Agnes only said the police had sent for Mr Holmes, but I guessed that if he came he'd bring you too." 

"And how did Agnes know?" 

"Her sister's husband is a porter at the station. And he saw the Inspector buying tickets to London, and asking about where he should change for Baker Street. So everyone in the village knew he was going to call you in." 

"Fascinating," I said. 

Holmes briefly looked up from his examination of the ground. "Continue, if you please," he said. "What else does everyone in the village know?" 

"I presume they don't know who killed Gertie," I added. 

"Oh, they all do." Jane's expression was scornful. "They all know it was Ned Fairburn. And they're going round saying he's a bad lot and they never trusted him, and why hasn't he been arrested yet." 

Holmes jumped to his feet. 

"Miss Jane," he said. "Would you be so good as to let us in?" 

"Of course," the girl said, and began eagerly scrambling down from the tree. 

"Thank you. And please try not to disturb any footmarks on your side of the gate." 

Shortly afterwards, the door was opened to us, and Holmes and I entered the orchard. Holmes at once resumed his examination of the surface of the path. Jane, walking on tiptoes, had returned to her station at the foot of the tree and was watching us with close attention. 

"Do you know when the gravel was last raked?" Holmes asked. 

"Last Tuesday afternoon," Jane said promptly. "I saw Cartwright — that's the gardener — out of the landing window when I went up to change." 

"Cartwright," Holmes repeated thoughtfully, still peering at the gravel. "A relative of Constable Cartwright, I presume?" 

"They're some sort of cousins, I think." Jane's expression was a thoughtful one. "Is it important?" 

"At present, I cannot say. It is dangerous to theorise ahead of one's data." Holmes rose to his feet. "This path, I presume, leads to one or more sheds. Let us examine them." 

We set off along the path, the eager Jane at our heels. Beyond the orchard, the path ran between neatly-tended rows of vegetables, and then into a small, walled area, which contained several heaps of compost and two large, ramshackle sheds. Holmes examined both of these carefully, inside and out, paying attention to each spade, shovel, rake and hoe. There were several sacks lying in the corner, and Holmes gave these, too, a minute examination. All were empty, or contained only fragments of dry leaves. 

On emerging from the shed, Holmes glanced at his watch. 

"I fear Watson and I must take our leave of you, Miss Jane," he said. "We have other lines of inquiry to pursue, at Thornbridge and at the Hall. But I suspect this garden may yet prove to have a bearing on our case." 

"You mean there may be a clue in the shed you haven't found yet?" Jane asked. 

Holmes bowed to her. "Perhaps." 

⁂

Though we certainly did return to Thornbridge and make it our business to question various witnesses, it did not seem to me that Holmes was expecting to unearth any new evidence. In most cases, he seemed content to confirm what the shopkeepers and loungers of Thornbridge had already told the police. 

"Holmes," I said, as we left the draper's shop. "I believe that I may need to say a particular word." 

"That word, doubtless, being 'Norbury'. My dear Watson, I have been aware for the past half-hour or more that you have been considering whether I need to hear it." 

"It's a relief to hear you say so. It seemed to me that you were only asking the questions that Inspector Lestrade, say, might have asked." 

Holmes smiled. "Watson, you cut me to the quick. No, all the evidence indicates that the centre of this mystery is to be found at Darley Place. The facts I need to establish here are necessary, but reasonably few. By the evening I shall be in a position to communicate with Inspector Clarke." 

⁂

After we had dined in the inn at Thornbridge, Holmes paid a visit to the police station and requested a word in private with the Inspector. When he emerged, he was on his own. 

"Well?" I asked. "Have you solved it?" 

"Let us say, there are grounds to believe so," he replied. "Let us take a walk in the lanes before bed." 

As I had half-expected, this was no countryside ramble. At a brisk pace, we made our way back to Darley Place. The garden gate was ajar; we crept in, made our way through the orchard to where the sheds stood, and took up our positions behind a stack of cut branches. 

It was plain to me that we were waiting for the criminal to show his hand, and I prepared myself for a vigil of indefinite length. One by one, the lights in the house were extinguished, and night fell over Darley Place and its gardens. 

It seemed that whoever we were seeking wished to move quickly, before the moon should rise and reveal their clandestine activities. Scarcely had the eleven chimes of a distant church clock faded from hearing, than the sound of stealthy feet on gravel came to our ears. We could make out the outline of a vague shape as it passed before us to one of the sheds Holmes had investigated earlier that day. 

As the shed door closed behind the figure, Holmes tapped me on the arm, and we approached the building on tiptoe. Flickers of light could be seen around the edge of the door, and I could smell burning oil. 

"Now, Watson!" Holmes snapped, and wrenched the door open. 

Within the shed, the cloaked and hooded figure straightened sharply, and turned to face us. To my astonishment it was a woman, young and dark-haired, her face stamped with terror. She made as if to run, but Holmes caught her by the arms and swiftly secured her. I stamped out the fire she had been attempting to light. 

"Now, what have we here?" Holmes said. "Who are you, miss?" 

The woman, still struggling in his iron grip, made no answer. 

"She's Mary," a familiar voice said. I turned to the doorway, to see that Jane was standing there, engulfed in an overcoat that was plainly far too large to be hers. "Mary Thompson. She's the chambermaid." 

"Indeed." Holmes nodded. "I see." 

"I heard her get up and I followed her," Jane went on. "Is she the one who did it?" 

"If you mean to ask whether she is the one who killed Miss Simpson, I strongly suspect that she is. And now, Miss Jane, if you will take the police whistle from the left pocket of my coat, and blow it as loudly as you can, we shall present Inspector Clarke with our findings." 

⁂

The following morning, as we were walking back to the railway station, we found that Jane had once again anticipated us. She was sitting on a stile by the side of the road, and hopped nimbly down as we approached. 

"Did Mary confess?" she asked. 

I nodded. "Not particularly coherently, but she admits her guilt. The Inspector is hopeful that, in time, she will be induced to give more details; and Holmes has left him with some suggestions of other evidence that should be sought out." 

"But how did you come to suspect her in the first place?" 

Holmes directed a brief smile at her, seeing her perhaps as a student of criminology. 

"At first," said he, "my suspicions were directed towards Cartwright, the gardener. His footprints were present near to where the body was found — overlaid by many others, indicating that he was one of the first people present. They were, moreover, deeper on his outward journey, suggesting that he had been carrying a heavy weight. Of course, the maid must have been conveyed to the place where she was found; her shoes bore no trace of the mud that is found on the path." 

Jane raised a hand. "How did you know the footprints were his?" 

"At the time I did not. But when I examined the Darley Place gardens, I saw the same pattern of hobnails in the footprints in the vegetable beds, and in the dust of the shed. I believe that Constable Cartwright also recognised the footprints, leading to his clumsy attempts to obscure the evidence." 

"But they weren't his footprints," Jane said. "He was in the village all afternoon, and he spent that night in the Golden Hart. Agnes's sister heard it from the landlord." 

"Precisely so. I am satisfied, from my conversations with the landlord and the maidservant, that Cartwright could not have committed the murder. Moreover, his stride, as I measured it in the soil of the vegetable bed, was longer than that of the person who had been in the copse that night." 

"He wasn't wearing his boots when he went to the inn," Jane said thoughtfully. "I remember noticing he had his Sunday shoes on. I thought he was going to see his sweetheart." 

"Watson, you could learn from this young lady," Holmes said, with approval. "How often have I impressed upon you the importance of accurate observation?" 

"Was I right about the sweetheart, too?" Jane asked. "You said you'd spoken to the maidservant at the inn. Her name's Betty, isn't it? She'd know something like that. Or was she..." 

Holmes shrugged. "That was no concern of mine. Nor should it be of yours." 

"So when Gertrude came to the garden door, Mary was lying in wait for her," said I. "She killed her, carried her body to the copse—" 

"In a sack," Jane added. "Mr Holmes must have found something in one of the sacks in that shed — isn't that so?" 

"A strand of her hair," Holmes said. "And marks of polish from her shoe." 

"But you told me you hadn't found anything!" 

"I made the suggestion, that is all. You are an intelligent young lady, but you still have a tendency to believe what you are told. And pass it on to your confidantes among the servants." 

Jane flushed. "I did. And Mary got to hear of it, and came to burn the sack before — as she thought — you found the evidence. Suppose she had come in the afternoon, when you were in Thornbridge?" 

"I considered that unlikely, but the possibility was provided for. You may have noticed a rascally young boy hanging about the orchard in the afternoon. He was one of my Baker Street irregulars. By forcing the gardener to guard the orchard against the possibility of stolen fruit, he also ensured the shed could not be tampered with by Mary." 

"I never even thought Mary was involved. Agnes said she was in Thornbridge the whole time." 

"As I said, you are too inclined to take people at their word — and Agnes was, too. Mary doubtless set out for the village, then doubled back, put on the gardener's boots, and lay in wait for her victim. She killed the girl, concealed her body in a sack, and left it in the shed. Later, she staged her return from the village with a few purchases, made for the purpose on a previous visit. Then, at night, she put on the boots again and carried the body to the copse." 

"And why did she do all this?" I asked. 

"I suspect the answer to be romantic love," Holmes said. "I would suggest that the two women were rivals — possibly for the affections of the man Fairburn, whom Miss Jane mentioned earlier. Fearing that Gertie was gaining the upper hand, Mary forged a letter luring her to Darley Place, and there brought about her end. The letter, of course, she would have recovered from the body and burned. As you correctly pointed out, my dear Watson, it was essential to establish how Gertie came to be so far out of her way, and I am satisfied that this is the reason." 

"So it was all because of love," Jane said. 

"In my cases, I have often found love to be nothing more than an illusion," Holmes said. The station was by now in sight, and it was clear that we would soon part. "For poor Gertrude Simpson, the illusion proved deadly. If I were you, Miss Jane, I would decide against love." 

"I intend to." Jane nodded, firmly. "And from now on, I shall take care not to believe everything I'm told."


End file.
